


Nothing Before You

by Sintari (OriginalSintari)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, First Time, M/M, No Angst, Oral Sex, PWP, Pining, Supernatural later seasons, Wincest - Freeform, mentions of past sexual experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22017070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalSintari/pseuds/Sintari
Summary: “So,” his brother breaks the silence between them suddenly. “How many guys?”“Dean. I don’t think you really want to know the answer to that.”Dean’s eyes are firmly on the road when he says, “Sammy, you don’t know a damn thing about what I want.” (Shameless smut.)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 38
Kudos: 275





	Nothing Before You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RatFlavored](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RatFlavored/gifts).



> Thank you, as always, to my beloved [RatFlavored](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RatFlavored/pseuds/RatFlavored) for the beta and for perpetually egging me on in my nonsense.

More often than not these days, after successful hunts like they one they’d just put to bed, they drive all night to get back to— A few months back, Sam had unconsciously said, “Let’s go home,” and only caught it when he noticed Dean trying to hide an uncharacteristically pleased little smile the entire two hundred miles back through Kansas wheat fields to the bunker.

On this particular evening, though, the sunset over Frankland, Colorado is especially striking, and nobody requires even a butterfly bandage. So, when they drive past the Arclight Motor Inn and Dean raises his eyebrows at Sam in the wordless communication style they’ve cultivated over the years Sam surprises himself by nodding.

A few miles back they’d passed a dive that looked so much like the Roadhouse that Sam followed it with his eyes until it disappeared from sight. He knows without knowing why that when they head out to find something to eat his brother will take them back there.

Sam thinks, not for the first time, that there’s nothing about Dean that he can’t anticipate.

As it turns out, he’s wrong about that.

A lifetime ago, if they walked into a bar with a gender ratio this skewed Sam’s brother would have turned to him and commented something like: “Sausage fest in here.” And more often than not he’d turn on his heels and lead them right on out in favor of somewhere with a better chance for action. But this time Dean just appraises the place coolly with that unobtrusive way he has of sweeping every dark corner and exit before helping himself to an unoccupied booth near the bar.

Still, Sam watches with smug anticipation while the truth of the place dawns on Dean. It’s right after the male bartender sits menus in front of them with the name of the place – Woody’s Hideaway – emblazoned in purple cursive type on the cover, and right before he leans on the table and says, “Never seen you two around here before. And believe me, I’d remember.”

Sam reads the realization on Dean’s face like a spell book, but instead of turning all red-faced and sputtering like he once would, Dean simply orders a beer and doesn’t even make a crack about girly drinks when Sam orders the Happy Hour margarita special.

“What?” he says when the tender disappears, and Sam realizes that maybe he’s been staring.

“Nothing, man.”

The look on Dean’s face is harder to read now, as he gives the place another once over. But he looks perfectly relaxed when he says, “Just spit it out, Sam.”

“I was just thinking about our first time in a gay bar. That time in Baton Rouge. I think Dad was hunting a rugaru.” Sam had been fourteen and the whole place had quieted down like a Western movie saloon when the three of them sauntered in. His brother, usually confident bordering on cocky, had gone saucer-eyed when he saw two guys walk by with their hands in each other’s back pockets. Sam’s sure he was probably equally stunned, but that day and every day back then, he only had eyes for Dean. They’d exchanged glances behind Dad’s back, until their father barked at them to wait in the car.

But then Dean, shrugging, says, “Dude, that was your first time in a gay bar.”

And there’s that cocky Dean again. Sam may be imagining it, but he swears his brother winks – winks! – at the bartender when he sets his beer in front of him.

Sam blinks rapidly. “Wait. What?”

Why the hell was Dean in a gay bar? Underage?

“Wait, what, _what_?” Dean’s acting all nonchalant, but he’s smiling around his first gulp of an especially frothy pour. Sometimes, when Dean is lighthearted like this, all Sam wants to do is touch him. Right now, for example, he’d swipe a finger across Dean’s foam mustache and then with that same finger tease open his brother’s cock-sucking lips… But there’s no place for those thoughts in Sam’s head. No place.

Still, he can’t help himself.

“Why? For a case?”

“Umm…” Dean’s looking around, and as he does the years fall away and he looks like a guilty little boy expecting their long-dead father to pop out and bust him. “Curiosity?”

Sam is flabbergasted.

“Curious-o-what?”

“Sammy. Am I speaking Greek right now? Because I’m pretty sure you speak that, too.”

“Let me just… Wait. Let me just get this straight. When we were kids you knowingly and with intention went into a gay bar out of,” and he emphasizes every syllable here, “curiosity?”

Dean’s motioning for another beer now, still with that smug little smile playing around his lips. “Ummhmmm.”

Sam can’t stand it. “Where the hell was I?”

“Math Bowl practice.” And the fact that his brother knew exactly where Sam was takes him aback. Of course Dean would never have gone off on a – sexual? – adventure without knowing that his little brother was safe first. It makes Sam feel fond, even as his mind boggles at the thought.

“…Then what?” Sam asks because if Dean doesn’t tell him, he’s only going to recreate the scenario himself, tonight in the shower, or – Dean licks beer foam off his lips – maybe in one of the bathroom stalls right here.

During the time period Dean is talking about, Sam was fourteen, raging with hormones, and would have gamely tried his level best to give his big brother anything he could find in some gay bar and more still. It’s just always been this way, and Sam guesses it always will. Not that Dean can ever know. Still, the idea that his arrow straight brother may be something other than… Sam never even dared to imagine it. And he’s imagined a whole lot of things about Dean over the years.

“Nope, you’re too young for this story,” Dean’s voice takes on that raspy growl he gets when he’s chatting up a woman. At this moment there’s nothing in the world Sam can imagine more than wanting to know this story.

But all he says is, “You can’t shock me.”

Dean’s eyebrows raise to his hairline. “Is that a challenge?”

“Dean!” and Sam sounds fourteen again, wheedling.

His brother hedges. “I’d need to be drunker.”

And before Sam can even consider what he’s saying he motions to the bartender, “Two Macallan Double Casks.”

“You really didn’t know?” Dean says, after their upgraded drinks arrive. The bartender lingers this time and now Sam can’t help but look between the guy and his brother for what… a spark? All the times Dean has left Sam in some bar for a conquest have been so his brother can pick up women. Well, as far as Sam knows. But does he really know?

“So, when Dad was on that case in Marfa, Arlo Winter gave me a handjob in his car between first and second period.”

Sam splutters. He starts to say “What?” yet again but instead he just says, “Wait, in the five minutes between first and second period?”

“There were eight minutes between classes in high school, thank you. And yeah,” his brother’s ears are a little pink now, “I wasn’t even late for class.”

Sam knows his mouth is hanging open like a cartoon dog spotting a juicy steak. Knows he will file this new piece of information away forever.

“Looking back on it, kind of makes sense that Arlo Winter was gay.” He doesn’t add, “And that you’re bi?” though his brain is spinning out of control with the thought. Sam composes himself. “Okay but wait, how did that lead you to a gay bar?”

“You remember we left Marfa in the dead of night,” Dean pauses. “Look, Sammy, we already know way too much about each other. Are you sure you want to know this?”

What kind of ridiculous question is that? “Uh. Yeah. Yes.”

“Okay so Arlo had promised me ah…” Dean scratches the back of his head. “He uh…”

“He’d take things further?” Sam prompts. “Oh god,” he lowers his voice, “That he’d…”

Sam watches Dean’s perfect lips say: “Blow me? Yep. And what guy can say no to that kind of offer?”

Sam takes an extra-large gulp of a whiskey that’s meant to be sipped. Dean carries on.

“So anyway, he fed me these lines about how guys are better at… it… because they know how it’s supposed to feel and all that and I uh... Hey, I was young. And so yeah, Dad cockblocked me in Marfa, and that’s why I went into a gay bar in Savannah.”

Sam feels plastered to the booth. “…And were they? Better?”

Dean’s now leveling him his best bullshit-detecting expression. “Like you don’t know, Sammy.”

It’s Sam’s turn to redden and look away.

“Ah! I knew it!” Dean points at him, gestures made broader by the alcohol. “I always suspected, college boy.”

Dean… suspected? So he… thought about it? Sam’s studying a cloudy speck on his fingernail now. He hadn’t considered that there might be a quid pro quo.

Dean is relentless. “Who was he?”

“No. Dean. C’mon.”

“Hey, I told you.”

“You told me about a handy in high school.”

“And a blowie in a booth at a gay bar.”

“IN A BOOTH?”

They are in a booth. In a gay bar. Right now.

Also, right now Sam’s especially glad they didn’t choose to sit at the bar because he goes treacherously hard in his jeans when his brain cells make that connection.

His brother shrugs, which does exactly zero to hide his pride in his long ago accomplishment.

“You’re so surprised,” there’s laughter behind Dean’s words now, and a sparkle in his eyes that isn’t just from eighteen-dollar-a-shot Scotch. “You had no idea. What did you think about me?”

Now there’s a question that his brother really doesn’t want the answer to.

When Dean’s finished laughing, he turns serious, the growling woman-chasing (man-chasing?) voice is back. “I’m serious, Sammy. I told you mine. Now tell me a story.”

His brother looks at him, and the only thing Sam can think to call that looks is “appraising.” Like Sam is some upgraded part of the Impala that Dean isn’t quite sure will be worth his time yet. It’s a lot, his brother’s full attention, prodding him about his sex life. With other guys.

Sam is ninety-nine percent certain, in his upstairs brain, that it isn’t possible to pass out from an erection, but hey, his own brain has betrayed him before.

He swallows. “Fine. You were right. College.”

Dean doesn’t say it again, but the way he smirks and sips his drink is all, “I knew it.”

“I guess all that Math Bowl worked out for me because I used to make extra money tutoring.”

“I never knew that,” Dean says softly, but if Sam stops now, he’ll never spit this out.

“So, the first time I- I ever did anything like that, I was tutoring this kid Brendan. He had this big test and when we were done… turns out he didn’t have any money.”

“So you took it out on his ass?” Dean teases.

“Dean!” Sam has to close his eyes to gather himself. “Holy shit. Nothing like that. He just offered me a blow job. Like you said, what guy can say no to that kind of offer?”

Dean mutters something to himself, and if the place weren’t getting louder as the night wore on, Sam might have thought his brother said, “Where the hell was I?” But that can’t be right.

“Damn, Sammy,” his brother says, still tipsy and happy. “Did it settle the bill?”

Sam wiggles his flat hand in a “eh” motion. “I mean… I was a pretty spectacular tutor.”

There’s that appraising look again. “Oh, I bet you were.”

Sam really needs to be excused right about now.

But then the bartender is meeting his eye and mouthing “Another?” and Dean’s nodding. They haven’t had a night like this in such a long time. And what guy can say no to that?

The place is getting busier as the night wears on. At some point while they were talking someone set up a PA system and started some kind of bar trivia game, and it’s a testament to how wrapped up Sam is in this conversation that he isn’t paying attention to the questions. He and Dean are across the booth from one another, their heads leaning closer now to hear over the din, and because maybe, Sam thinks, they have at least some shame talking about this stuff in public.

Still, Dean apparently hasn’t been as intent on their conversation as Sam because he leans forward and whispers, “Be cool and do not look but Steve McQueen at the corner of the bar has been clocking you the whole time we’ve been in here.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but he also does the lean-back-and-look-nonchalantly-around thing until he spots who Dean’s talking about. Leather jacket, work boots, shoulders hunched, and hand wrapped around a beer like it’s a life preserver. He’s, Sam realizes with a start, a poor man’s version of Dean ten years ago. The guy holds his gaze and Sam breaks the contact, turning back to Dean.

“So, he your type?” Dean’s paused with his drink halfway to his lips, like there’s nothing in the world more interesting to him at this moment than Sam’s answer.

“Too young for me,” Sam says, and for once in this entire cursed conversation he’s caught Dean off his guard.

His brother blinks. “Oh.” But he recovers himself quickly enough. “Didn’t take you for the type to go for older men, Sammy.”

Sam attempts to school his face in a mysterious expression. Of course, he attempts this with the person who knows him best in all the world. And who, until just a couple of hours ago, he thought he knew best, too.

“I’m just teasing you,” his brother continues. “I know all you college kids go through a phase.” Despite what he says, Dean’s tone is not altogether teasing.

“It wasn’t a phase,” Sam says quietly.

“Oh, should I bring Steve McQueen over here?” But maybe he sees something on Sam’s face, because he adds, “Oh man, I’m messing with you. But seriously, what do you mean? Don’t think I didn’t notice you said ‘first time.’ When was the last time then?”

Sam feels his face reddening again. As if he could blush more. “With a guy?” His voice is nearly a squeak.

“You said it wasn’t a phase.”

_With you. In the motel shower this morning. Only you had no idea._

But Sam surprises himself by remembering the real answer. “Oh right. Warwick, Rhode Island. When…” When I was looking for ways to get you out of your Deal, he doesn’t say. “A long time ago now. There was this librarian.”

Dean throws back his head and laughs, and the sight heartens Sam.

“Of course. A librarian,” Dean’s still laughing. “When I said your type of librarian or mine, I had no idea.”

“Then how about you?” Sam challenges.

Dean thinks for a moment. “Been awhile. Thirteen, fourteen years ago? Truck stop shower room at like 4am. I was in a weird mood.”

“Wait. Was I there?”

“Oh, you’d remember if you were there.”

Sam knows he is now flame red. But he does his best to play off the teasing as normal brotherly banter. Even though there’s not a thing normal about this. Or his… heightened reaction to it.

When Sam doesn’t say anything to that, Dean offers: “Nah, you were still…” His hand flutters. Oh. Sam was still at Stanford. All this time, and that’ll never stop being a sore spot between them.

“I can’t believe we’re talking about this,” Sam finally finds the words to say. Not that he wants to stop talking about it. And that’s the problem. If his brother keeps waxing poetic about getting jerked off and blowjobs in a booth in a fucking bar Sam is fairly certain he’s going to go off like a shaken up soda bottle as soon as he can find fifteen seconds alone.

And Dean just won’t let it go.

“How far?” he asks Sam after their next drinks arrives. This is going to be a hell of a bar tab.

Maybe it’s because he’s feeling the alcohol now, but Sam doesn’t pretend not to understand the question. “…Did I go with a guy?”

“Ummhmm.” There’s that look again. Like a pawnbroker examining a watch he suspects isn’t truly fourteen karat.

“I… you know.” He motions vaguely down toward his crotch, and then to his mouth. “Returned the favor.”

He swears his brother’s eyes go demon-dark for a second there.

But Dean’s looking everywhere but at Sam’s face when he says, “Really? With the librarian?” 

“With him? Nah. He seemed pretty happy to, you know… give.”

“He was happy just to give?” Dean deadpans.

Sam’s sheepish now. “Yeah. I mean… He asked!”

Dean’s voice is dry now. “So he took one look at you and he asked.” He sips his drink. “My brother has a fucking superpower and he’s been hiding it all these years. What else have you done?”

“Nothing. That’s it. It’s not like we were ever in one place long enough to…” Sam feels thirteen again and unable to use his words. “…Do other stuff.” Then it dawns on him. “Wait, have you?”

“Have I what?”

“You know.”

“Say it, Sammy. You want the answer you gotta ask the question.”

Sam places a hand over his eyes, then peeks at Dean through spread fingers, enunciates. “Have you ever given a blowjob?”

“Not yet.”

This is it. This is how Sam dies. Some kind of embolism or maybe a stroke. He was perfectly healthy until his brother sat across from him and admitted that sure while his lips haven’t yet been wrapped around a cock, there’s still time. It’ll be a whole new puzzle for medical science.

 _Oh but you could suck mine,_ Sam thinks. And that was way too close to actually coming out of his mouth in his actual human voice. He needs to cut himself off right now. There’s no way Sam Winchester is going to let his deepest, darkest secret escape and ruin his entire life because he’s whiskey-drunk in a bar booth at Woody’s Hideaway in Frankland, Colorado.

But maybe it’s showing on his face anyway, because his brother is looking at him now like he passed some kind of test. Like maybe he is all fourteen karats after all.

Just then Young Steve McQueen walks by their booth, gives Sam the eye, then heads straight for the bathroom.

Dean is snickering behind his drink. “I think he just asked.”

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. “We should get out of here.” This whole night is becoming far too dangerous, and in a way that Sam is less than prepared to handle. He motions for the check and rifles through his wallet for a credit card that can handle their voluminous tab.

“Hey man, let me finish my drink,” Dean says, as Sam signs the name Edward Haggard on the receipt.

Then his brother is looking beyond him. And then suddenly without warning he’s dropping his hand over Sam’s wrist.

“Let’s go,” he says, but not to Sam. That’s when Sam realizes Young Steve McQueen has emerged from the restroom. He realizes this at approximately the same time Dean slips his fingers between Sam’s and tugs him out of the booth.

Dean doesn’t let go of Sam’s hand until they’re outside under the stars.

“What was that?”

“What?”

“Did it make you feel better?” Sam says, half exasperated and half ready to shove his brother to his knees and force him to apologize.

“Yep.” His brother has picked up a toothpick somewhere and it dangles jauntily between his lips. He’s grinning.

The interior of the Impala seems smaller than ever once they head back to the motel. Dean’s driving with his wrists, not saying anything or even singing along with the radio, just mouthing that toothpick. Sam’s trying to figure out the most nonchalant way he can call first shower when they get back and take care of the problem that he’s thankful the darkness of a rural Colorado night is currently hiding.

Dean getting a handjob in a car – like this one. Jesus Christ. Dean getting blown in a booth. Dean doing god knows what in a truck stop shower somewhere.

And where the hell was Sam?

“So,” his brother breaks the silence between them suddenly. “How many?”

Sam massages his temples. They can’t be more than five minutes from the motel and sweet, sweet relief.

“Dean. I don’t think you really want to know the answer to that.”

Dean’s eyes are firmly on the road when he says, “Sammy, you don’t know a damn thing about what I want.”

Sam’s lucky he’s sitting, because his whole body has dissolved into water, into atoms. He dares turn his head to meet Dean’s eyes, and his brother is looking back at him and there’s really no mistaking the invitation there. 

He’s not sure how Dean gets them back to the motel without his eyes on the road but minutes later they’re at the door, doing battle.

“Where the fuck is the key?” Dean huffs.

Desire has made Sam reckless. The key is in his front pocket, way too close to the hard-on he’s so far managed to successfully hide, but now he pats the denim with his thumb.

“Get it,” Sam instructs his brother.

Dean’s mouth is half open ( _prepared_ , a lustful voice in the back of Sam’s brain rasps). The inches between them in height have never been more apparent. Then his brother, his eyes never wavering from Sam’s, slips his hand into Sam’s pocket and retrieves the key.

And he isn’t quick about it either.

Oh fuck.

Sam plucks the key from Dean’s hand. And it’s only the awful, wonderful suspicion that once they get inside that motel room his brother’s lips are going to wrap around his cock that allow him to stop his hands from shaking long enough to actually unlock the door.

The fall over each other getting inside. But once they’re safely in, standing far too close to one another at the foot of Dean’s bed, Sam freezes for a moment. They’re here now. Behind a locked door. Inside a salt line. Just his brother and him.

They can do anything.

“Not yet?” Sam asks. And by the sly quirk of Dean’s lips, he knows his brother’s picking up exactly what he’s putting down. 

Sam’s legs go boneless and he flops onto the foot of the bed. His brother follows, then drops to his knees, equally boneless.

“Oh fuck.” This time he says it out loud.

“That’s kind of the point,” Dean says, and suddenly they’re grinning at each other. They’re kids again, getting away with something.

Dean’s thumb and forefinger are on his zipper now. He looks a question at Sam one more time, a question that Sam answers with his eyes and only the slightest nod. Here, alone in this room, getting the one thing he’s always wanted, it suddenly feels like this was always going to happen.

Inevitable. That’s what they are.

Sam’s trying to watch, take in every detail of this, but apparently Dean’s going for a land speed record because he has Sam unzipped and out of his boxers in the space of a breath.

And then he’s engulfed.

Sam’s been blown before, of course. He’s even been blown fairly recently. But nothing prepares him for the sight and feel of his own brother taking his cock with unconcealed pleasure.

Dean takes his mouth away then, and it’s like an amputation. “Any tips?” his brother asks, looking up at him.

“Oh fuck.” Sam’s vocabulary has become quite limited, apparently.

“Just um… lick around the head…”

Dean does as suggested.

“Like that?”

“Uh yeah. That was… exactly like that. And now um… Oh yes. That’s…”

And that’s when his vocabulary dwindles to zero. Instead, Sam tangles one hand in his brother’s hair, runs the other through his own and just gazes. 

That is, until Dean does something spectacular with his tongue and it’s all over.

Dean swallows, then tucks Sam back into his boxers. For a moment, Sam feels the sudden lack of contact like a loss, until he realizes that that’s not what this is.

This is a beginning.

He lays flat on his back on the bed, both feet still on the floor. Dean joins him, and they both stare up at the ceiling. It’s comfortable. Their still-clothed arms touch, and nobody pulls away.

Then Sam realizes something else.

“That could not possibly have been your first time,” he says, and it’s as accusing as he can manage while he’s sated and half asleep.

He hears a chuckle by his side. “Beginner’s luck, Sammy.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch. …You want to know why I always called you that, by the way?”

Then Dean shows him.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> Rebloggable Tumblr link [here](https://crooked-sleep.tumblr.com/post/189937319354/nothing-before-you-wincest-pwp) should the spirit move you.


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